


they say that dreaming is free, but i wouldn’t care what it cost me

by elsaclack



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 13:44:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14749979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsaclack/pseuds/elsaclack
Summary: This is not a dream.It may look like one, what with all the fairy lights and the flashing red-and-blue strobe lights and that inexplicable feeling of weightlessness originating from somewhere down in his bones, but it’s real.It’s really happening.Amy Santiago is walking down the aisle, in a white dress, with flowers in her hands and a smile on her face and enough love to eradicate the concept of hate in her eyes, and it’s real.She’s walking down the aisle, toward the podium, where she’s going to get married.To him, Jake Peralta.This is not a dream.





	they say that dreaming is free, but i wouldn’t care what it cost me

This is not a dream.

It may look like one, what with all the fairy lights and the flashing red-and-blue strobe lights and that inexplicable feeling of weightlessness originating from somewhere down in his bones, but it’s real.

It’s really happening.

Amy Santiago is walking down the aisle, in a white dress, with flowers in her hands and a smile on her face and enough love to eradicate the concept of hate in her eyes, and it’s real.

She’s walking down the aisle, toward the podium, where she’s going to get married.

To him, Jake Peralta.

This is not a dream.

It certainly feels like one, considering the fact that the music accompanying her slow walk toward him is coming from a man they once questioned over a murder and the woman who has changed his entire life is standing before him with the softest, most adoring look on her face, and he can still so vividly remember what it felt like to stand here and clumsily admit his feelings to her years earlier, a box of his old desk things in between them. There are flowers between them now and if this was a dream, there might be something to that whole symbolism thing Amy always talks about when it’s her turn to pick the movie and she chooses one of those art house movies he can barely understand the first time through.

But it isn’t a dream, it’s real.

Amy Santiago is marrying him.

The concept of it - the generalized future tense that this whole ordeal has been so far - is something he’s only just managed to get his head around. To marry her would be one thing, but it’s more than just that: this girl is  _it_ for him. She’s his partner and his best friend and his soulmate, and in a few short minutes she’ll be his  _wife_ , and it’s like standing at the edge of a sheer cliff side and suddenly noticing the bottomless chasm beneath his feet. It’s thrilling, it’s terrifying, it’s surreal -

But it is not a dream.

She may be his dream girl - and he may tell her as much while openly weeping - but this moment is not a dream.

(He may have dreamed  _of_ this moment for far longer than he’d care to admit,  _but_.)

There are antihistamines and nicotine patches in his pockets when he kisses his wife for the very first time, and there are tears in their eyes when they pull away, and Jake’s certain that the sheer magnitude of his unbridled joy would be enough to power New York City if it was possible to harness that kind of energy.

It doesn’t matter now, though, because he just married the absolute love of his life in front of all their closest friends and she’s squeezing his arm through his sleeve as they walk back down the aisle together, back toward the precinct and the rest of their lives beyond it. And he’s got the biggest, broadest, most absurdly silly grin on his face, all because of the woman to his right.

(Later, much later, when it’s just the two of them and the excitement and adrenaline of the day has finally worn off, he’ll fight a losing battle against sleep just to savor one last look at her blissfully peaceful face. Beautiful, perfect, so delicately carved by an angel, she hums in her sleep, and when he scoots in closer she nestles closer and murmurs his name. His heart swells with affection as his consciousness finally fades away.)

“So,” she says softly as the precinct doors swing shut behind them. They’re alone for the first time all day - but not really, thanks to the lone beat cop manning the front desk somewhere behind Jake, who dutifully stands and leaves the lobby with only a quiet cough - and their hands are joined again, pulling each other closer, and closer still. “What now?”

He’s got half a mind to drag her over to the janitor’s closet on the other side of this floor, but their friends are right outside and Charles is definitely not going to leave them alone long enough for Jake to do everything he wants to do, so instead he just leans down and presses another soft, lingering kiss to Amy’s lips. “I dunno,” he murmurs when they break apart a long moment later. “I’m honestly still not completely convinced that I’m not dreaming right now.”

A broad grin splits across her face - almost reminiscent of the look she got with that nicotine patch slapped across her forehead - and his heart flutters in response. “Me either,” she admits, “but even if we are dreaming - this is, like, the best dream  _ever_.”

“Best Dream Ever, title of our sex tape.”

Her head tilts back as she laughs, long and loud and joyous, and his whole chest is on the verge of bursting at the sound of it. They’ve got miles and miles stretched out before them, years and years unfurling all around them, and Amy is the most beautiful and amazing and ethereal human being he’s ever laid eyes on and the ring on his finger is hers,  _he_ is hers, heart and soul.

“I love you so friggin’ much,” he marvels quietly as her laughter dies down.

She seems to sober slightly. “I love you so friggin’ much, too,” she says, before pulling him back down into another toe-curling kiss.

A loud shout and a whoop of laughter from somewhere outside the precinct doors draws their attention away from each other; they have just enough time to turn their heads before the doors suddenly bang open, revealing a red-faced and exhilarated Charles and a mildly-grinning Rosa.

Charles, of course, bursts into tears immediately. “Oh, god, c’mon,” Rosa grunts, leaning to the side to lightly kick Charles in the shin. “You said you’d keep it together.”

“ _Look at them_ , Rosa!” Charles shouts hoarsely.

Rosa spares them one glance, before she heaves a sigh and rolls her eyes. “You gonna stand there blubbering, or are you gonna invite them to the bar?”

“You guys are going to the bar?” Jake asks, arms curling a bit tighter around Amy’s waist.

(Charles cries a little harder.)

“Yeah. You guys are welcome to join, if you’re not too busy.” Her smirk is knowing and suggestive all at once, and if it wasn’t for Charles’ truly disturbing wailing, Jake might have it somewhere in him to be embarrassed.

But he isn’t. He just looks down at Amy - at his wife - and raises his brows in question. “Wanna go get super drunk on our friends’ tabs?”

She pretends to ponder it a moment, drumming her fingers along the collar of his jacket. “Only if there will be kamikaze shots,” she says, a twinkle in her eye.

He snorts, letting his head bow forward so that his forehead lightly bumps against hers. “You heard the lady!” he says, turning his head away from her to shout past Charles and Rosa into the street. “Somebody get my wife four kamikaze shots,  _stat_!”

So it’s definitely not a dream - but if it was, he’d be content with never, ever waking up again.


End file.
